Echoes of Autumn
by Paulette Demers Turco

Under the oak trees, acorns scatter,
pinging, plopping, such a clatter,
till they stop on ground that’s flatter–

down from branches ever higher,
rich with golden, orange, fire-
hued leaves, still rustling, ever drier

till they drop. But Nor’easter gales’
whistling whips more down, the wails
whirling them to pebbled trails,

bricked city sidewalks, streets, along
with pulled-down tree trunks, wires not strong
enough to withstand winds our wrong

decisions force on us this hour:
wilder weather, floods, lost power.

The storm abates. We rake debris,
roast acorns from our near-bare tree.



 

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